


Already There

by sammyatstanford



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Car Sex, Pre-Slash, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:52:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammyatstanford/pseuds/sammyatstanford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean used to just ask Dad to use the car, but Sam would have to ask Dean, and Dean would probably say no but at the very least give him shit and interrogate him about who and why and where, and even worse give him a curfew like he’s twelve and not sixteen. So, temporarily borrowing the car and taking it on the chin in a few hours is just a better plan overall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Already There

It’s not actually possible for Sam to take the Impala without getting caught. Sure, he can wait until everyone else is asleep and then creep out of whatever place they’ve holed up in without waking anyone up, but the minute that engine growls to life, he knows Dad and Dean are awake like a shot. Too bad for them Sam’s already pulling out of the parking lot. There’s consequences later, but sometimes, he just doesn’t care. Besides, right now it’s just him and Dean, Dad days gone on a hunt, and Dean’s punishments are never as serious as he wants them to be. 

Dean used to just ask Dad to use the car, but Sam would have to ask _Dean_ , and Dean would probably say no but at the very least give him shit and interrogate him about who and why and where, and even worse give him a curfew like he’s twelve and not sixteen. So, temporarily borrowing the car and taking it on the chin in a few hours is just a better plan overall. 

A plan that, in this case, has only gotten better by the minute, since he’s now sprawled across the backseat, one foot planted on the floorboards and Jennifer Setzer straddling his other thigh with her skirt bunched up around her waist. Her shirt’s somewhere in the front seat, her bra pulled down to her stomach, her tits pretty and blood-flushed from his mouth. His pants are halfway to his ankles and her hand is on his dick. He can feel a faint shakiness in her grip, a leftover from her earlier orgasm, but she’s working him over in a way that makes it clear Sam is not the only guy in town who goes for tall brunette volleyball players with acerbic wit and bright blue eyes. They’re not kissing, even though Sam wouldn’t mind more of that, but Jenn’s just watching his face from her perch on his lap, biting her lip as she takes him in with a half-lidded stare. 

And Jesus _fuck_ she is good at this. It’s like his body is burning and freezing at the same time, an overload of sensation that he feels as the crawling need to get away or push closer, wanting more and less at the same time. Looking at the gleam in her eyes, the expression of intensity on her face, while her hand slides over him, slick and hot and perfect—it’s all just _too much_ , and Sam turns his head away, buries his face into the shirt he’d found in the backseat and balled up under his head. 

It’s Dean’s, he realizes, the thought spiraling through the dizzy mess of his brain, and it must have escaped their last trip to the Laundromat because it still smells like him. Like sweat and grass and cheap aftershave and a hint of cigarette smoke, and Sam’s senses are so amped up that the smell is overwhelming, temporarily blocking out everything else in the car, so strong that it’s like Dean is _there_ , like Dean is sweating in the humid backseat, like Sam can _taste_ the cigarettes he smokes, and Sam’s suddenly slamming into orgasm with no warning, none of the ratcheting build up, just fireworks behind his eyes and something molten pooling under his skin and pulsing out his cock, leaving him heavy and sated and utterly wrecked on the leather seat. 

He comes back to the awareness that he’s shivering, the sweat on his skin cooling in the chilly night air. Jenn is re-covering her breasts, pulling the straps of her bra back over her shoulders, grabbing her shirt over the seat and pulling it back over her head. She holds up a crumpled wad of take-out napkins. “What should I do with these?” 

“Uh, fuck,” Sam says, and he’d be embarrassed by his total incoherence if she weren’t looking so smug. He pulls his boxers and jeans back up, gets his belt done. “Here,” he says, taking the trash out of her hand and shoving the mess, cold and wet with the come she’d wiped off her hand, deep into his pocket to flush later when he gets home. 

She hands off his hoodie, and he pulls it on with a grateful smile that just makes her smirk grow. She pushes his bangs out of his eyes, and the sensation of her little soft hand across his forehead when he’s used to the action being performed by one that’s large and callus-rough is a little weird. She leans in and kisses him, tongue slipping in hot and dirty like a promise, and he just fakes a grin when she pulls back, tries not to dwell on the fact that he can’t make promises to anyone because in another week he’ll be gone. 

“Uh, sorry,” he says dumbly. “Thanks.” 

She giggles and tilts her head, still flirting even now. “Yeah, you too, Sam. But I gotta get back home, okay?” 

“Oh yeah, of course.” He scrabbles over the seat back first and she follows, adjusting her skirt and smoothing her hands over her clothes before settling into the passenger seat. He starts the car and drives her home, not talking because she seems perfectly content to stare at the stars out the window. 

“Call me tomorrow,” she says as she opens the passenger door, and he grins back, genuine this time, and says, “Definitely,” because who would say no to a repeat of tonight, and then he’s watching her creep up the driveway and disappear through the gate into her backyard. 

He’s waiting at a red light when it finally hits him that he came with his face buried in Dean’s shirt, the thought making his stomach tighten. It should be weird, but come on, Sam had a girl’s very expert hand on his _dick_. It’s not like this is the first time his orgasm has caught him out of nowhere. Thinking otherwise would be reading way too much into the situation, and that is so not his post-orgasm brain’s MO. 

It’s not until the flood of light across the dashboard flips from red to green that he realizes he’s lifting his hips, reaching back over the seat to grab Dean’s dirty shirt. He holds it crumpled in his fist as he drives with one hand, starting to feel the sick twist of dread at what Dean is going to say when he gets back to the motel room. 

He pulls into the parking lot, and without thinking he presses the fabric up against his face and just _breathes_. Lets the smell he knows as home flood his senses. 

And then he tosses the shirt over his shoulder, climbs out of the car, and goes to face the music.


End file.
